What was Hidden
by Mecca
Summary: Methos goes on a tame archeological dig and remembers more than he bargined for.


  
What Was Hidden  
By Mecca Sturino  
  
'God I hate college'. Methos thought looking at the pedagogue in the   
front of the lecture hall. He recognized it as a necessary evil, but it   
still drove him insane to listen to a pompous overbearing man station   
himself in front of him and presume to lecture him on history when he   
had bloody well been there. Still that's what he's paid to do after   
all. Methos glanced at the girl beside him who was practically   
drooling. It must have some serious perks too. "Mr. Adamson. Pierce   
Adamson."  
  
"Dr. Jones?" annoyed at being caught daydreaming Methos decided to play   
innocent.  
  
"Well, I was just saying that there are three types of finds at a dig.   
Care to tell me what they are?"  
  
'I'm going to be mean'.. "Actually there are four types. The fourth   
is commonly unknown so I'm not very surprised it escaped your notice."  
  
" And those would be?"  
  
"Cultural, petrified organism, anthropological , and last, and   
certainly least, fossilized cultural item."  
  
Jones glanced at the door and seemed to be irritated for a moment.   
"Really?. I'll see you this after Mr. Adamson."  
  
" Certainly, Dr. Jones" 'Impertinent child. Gods I hate   
professors. Absolutely the height of boorishness'.  
  
"And now class, on to the importance of keeping a find untampered   
with ...."  
  
The girl beside him was batting her eyes. Probably had been the whole   
time. Methos fought the urge to laugh. He wouldn't be in as moment. Dr.   
Jones wasn't the least bit frightening to him, but to college student   
Pierce Adamson today's outburst had been way out of character. Not to   
act cowed this afternoon would be even more so. Damn professors!  
  
  
'Why or why did I agree to teach this particular class? The girls in   
the class were embarrassing and he hated to act like the jackass that   
as here called all professors were required by university policy to be.   
Indiana swore softly. Marcus had told him to pick a student from the   
class to take to a dig in Africa. He said that it would be the first   
one to stand up to him, provided Henry didn't tell anyone. It didn't   
seem likely at the time. He could have brushed it off or simply   
*forgotten* all about it if Henry hadn't been standing at the damn   
door. Now he was stuck taking a kid into the field. At least Adamson   
didn't seem like one of those empty headed simpletons that occupied the   
majority of the class. Seems being the operative word.  
  
There was a knock on the door.  
  
"Mr. Adamson. How are you this afternoon?"  
  
Schooling himself into the properly apprehensive facial expression,   
Methos walked into the room. That man was so bloody   
arrogant. "Um, well, what did you want me for. I am sorry for acting   
so rude in class, but..."  
  
"No, your not" Jones interrupted.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Don't. You weren't acting like one of those vapid children who you   
attend class with, and I'd appreciate if you didn't start now."  
  
Methos tried to look shocked, keeping the amused expression at hearing   
his own sentiments echoed back from Jones. "I'm damn well stick with   
you now." Jones finished in a mutter. He ran his hand along his well   
shaved jaw, being used to it being covered with stubble.   
  
"How are you stuck with me now?" Methos didn't completely drop his   
Pierce Adamson persona, but he did relax it leaning against the door   
frame and noticed Jones immediate and unknowing approval.   
" Do you know who Marcus Brody is?"   
  
"The curator of the museum, right?" "Yeah, he said to pick on   
of my student to take with me on a dig in Africa next week. I told him   
it would be the first one who stood up to me, in any way, shape or   
form. Who would have known right? Then, this afternoon, wouldn't you   
have known it, damn Henry walked by in just enough time to hear one of   
my students disagree with me. Guess who?"  
  
" Fucked you plans right up, didn't I?" Methos asked not feeling a bit   
guilty. He sat down in a chair across the desk from Jones, noting his   
slight smile at 'Pierce Adamson' profanity.   
  
" Where in Africa is the dig?"   
  
"Near Tiremt, Egypt. It's between Farafra and Asyut. It was some   
aristocrat's palace. A sandstorm covered it up. According to the men   
already there it was about 100 BC."  
  
It was 97 BC  
  
He remembered.  
  
It was a beautiful place. The Romans governed then, but despite of the   
government Egypt and her people were beautiful. And his home was   
beautiful, just the sort of relaxation that he had needed and hadn't   
found. And he wanted to see it again. It was time for his pilgrimage   
there  
  
" I'm in. When do I have to be ready?"  
  
"We're leaving in four days." Dr. Jones answered surprised at how   
interested Adamson looked.   
  
"I'll see you in four days then."  
  
  
Four Days Later  
  
  
"Hey, Adamson. Over here. You ready?" Methos tapped his rucksack.   
"Yep. I'm ready. You, Dr. Jones?" Privately Methos was amazed at how   
different Jones looked. Gone was the suit and in its place were rough   
brown pants and a white shirt. On his head was a brown fendora. He   
looked less like a snooty professor and more like what Methos referred   
to as a 'normal person'. For his part he was dressed in jeans and the   
type of sweater that fishermen wore, loose and warm. Odd as the outfit   
made him look he simply shrugged to himself and excused it as being   
comfortable. He looked around the nearly empty airplane hanger.  
  
" Which plane?"   
  
"That one over there," Jones gestured. "It's my friend's. He's lending   
it to me."  
  
" You can fly, right?" " Nervous?"  
  
"Not really. Just if you can't I'd feel safer with my life in my hands,   
instead of yours. I can fly, Dr. Jones ."  
  
"So can I. Incidentally we're going to be working together for a while,   
so call me Indy or Indiana."  
  
Methos controlled a smile at the outlandish nickname only with force.   
"Call me Pierce, then."  
  
"Okay, then. All aboard."  
  
"Isn't that for trains?"  
  
" Get on the plane, Pierce."  
  
"Absolutely, sir." Methos threw his bag on board, following with his   
body immediately afterwards. "I'd rather get in the plane though."   
Seeing Indy looking the controls he asked. "You're sure you can fly   
this thing?"  
  
Taking off Indy replied. "Fly, yes. Land...not so great."  
  
"That had better be a joke."  
  
"Relax. Enjoy the flight." Indy said with an evil grin.  
  
The flight was absolutely uneventful. In fact it was so bloody boring   
Methos went to sleep some where over the Atlantic. His last waking   
thought was 'Good thing it wasn't a boat.' They stopped to refuel   
in France. As they climbed out of the plane Indiana asked " Have you   
ever been to France before, Pierce?"  
  
'Since before it was France, child'. "Yes, when I was younger."  
  
"How old are you? I mean don't ask or talk like the other young   
scholars at the university. I figure we need to know each other."  
  
"I'm older than I look. How old are you?"  
  
"Older than I look"  
  
They walked in silence to the small cafe'.   
  
" Do --- you ----speak---English?" Jones asked storekeeper with   
careful enunciation.   
  
Methos started laughing and turned to Jones. "Do---you---speak ---  
French?" He mocked. It was the supreme arrogance of Americans that of   
course everyone in the world understood English if only spoken loudly   
and slowly enough. Before Jones could do more than look at him, he   
continued " What do you want?"   
  
Jones told him and he ordered in French dialect perfect to the   
region, though Jones knew only it was French. They took their meal and   
some food to eat on the plane back to the hanger.   
  
" Well, I'm glad your not acting like you're scared out of your   
wits anymore."  
  
"You asked for it. "   
  
"Why did you act like that?"  
  
"I could. If I don't people get neurotic around me."  
  
"Neurotic?"  
  
" Trust me"  
  
They were back on the plane by this time.   
  
"We should be at the dig site in another six hours." Indiana   
informed 'Pierce'  
  
"Oh, joy" Methos replied sarcastically  
  
  
They landed near the dig. Well, landing was a general term for what   
occurred, Methos thought rubbing a still sore bottom. Peeved his lousy   
landing Jones completely blew off the man who came to greet them,   
preferring instead to merely set up the tents and eat.   
  
It was dark by the time that the tents were up and dinner was eaten.   
Cold beans Methos thought disgustedly. "I take it that cooking is   
numbered with French as among your non-skills" he said to the chef of   
the evenings repast. "You don't have to eat."   
  
" Probably not, but then I'd get cranky."   
  
Indiana looked at the man longing in a position he would have thought   
impossible if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes with amazement. "   
Maybe you're missing the point of this exercise. I'm supposed to be   
teaching you."  
  
" Good luck." Methos smiled and walked into his tent.   
  
Jones looked after the man who seemed to be one thing before turning   
into another entirely. He swore quietly and went into his own tent.   
  
They rose at dawn, by virtue of Indiana throwing cold water onto   
'Pierce' when he repeatedly refused to wake.   
  
" We have to be at the dig in half an hour"  
  
"I hate you." Methos informed the teacher with dignity. Or as much   
dignity as one can have while sopping wet sitting in blue blankets.   
  
Indiana simply sat down on the dusty ground and laughed until the   
pillow hit his face. Methos stepped over the still chuckling man."   
Let's go. It's so damn important."  
  
"Fine, fine, let's go."  
  
It turned out the man who had been signaling to Jones so   
enthusiastically the day before and whom Jones had almost entirely   
blown off was the archeologist who had discovered the site. He had   
Jones in because he was a month from retirement. He simply had to   
inform Jones in of the condition of the site and he was going home.   
  
"It seems to be the home of a Roman citizen who settled here. Maybe an   
elderly man who needed to 'get away from it all.' It's in good shape.   
Not disturbed. The bodies found thus far have been perfectly   
mummified. The distribution of sex is almost even with the bodies found   
so far, and there have been only seven though we are sure that less   
than a fifth of the estate has been uncovered and of that only the   
second floor." George Forley babbled.  
  
" The second floor?" Jones questioned.  
  
" Yes, we have uncover two sets of stairs down, so we are fairly   
certain that there is a lower floor. The dust storm must have been   
horrendous to cover such an amount."  
  
"It was" 'Pierce' said quietly. " Oh, it was." Forley didn't hear him.   
Jones did.  
  
  
Flashback  
  
I love this country. Beautiful landscape, beautiful architecture.   
He looked at his wife. Beautiful women. He'd been married 39 times   
before, but Armecha was special. She was beautiful, but his wives had   
been beautiful before. She was intelligent, but his wives   
had been astute previously. She was kind, but again so   
had others. She was all this, and moreover he trusted her more than   
any other woman he had met. He had told her what he was,   
something he had never told any of his other wives. And she still loved   
him. She wasn't afraid of him, she didn't think he was a god, she   
accepted him as he was. Something that was rare enough in the 3   
thousand years he had walked the earth. He had even told her about   
Kronos and the horsemen. She had held him as he cried.   
  
He looked over at his wife and wept inside at the fact she was going   
to die. Until that day though, may it be a hundred years in the   
future, and he hoped it was, she came from a long lived family, he   
would stay by her side. For the first time his wife was a full   
partner. He trusted her more than any other being on the planet.   
Including himself.   
  
She had made him promise to remember her. They had been lying in bed.   
She had held him close and made him swear that no matter how long he   
was on the world that he would remember her and the daughter they had   
adopted. He had laughed, kissed her nose and said that he would always   
remember her young and beautiful no matter how old and wrinkly she got.  
  
" Wrinkly! Old! Why you!" She started to tickle his ribs, which spouted   
a tickle war that soon turned into something else.   
******************************************************************  
  
  
And she died here, far before the time when she would have been   
wrinkly. Armecha, I still remember you. I promised. Methos said quietly   
to the landscape Jones was looking at him strangely, and for an instant   
Methos was afraid he had talked out loud. Instead Jones   
merely said " Are you ill, Pierce? You looked green for a moment. You   
aren't uncomfortable around bodies are you?"  
  
" No, " Methos retorted. " But I'm most comfortable around young   
female ones. You won't know anything about that of course."  
  
" No, I can't say I thought that you could get laid at all."  
  
Mr. Forley looked shocked for an instant than began to laugh. Jones   
began to apologize effusively.   
  
" I'm sorry, sir.." At this Methos nit his lip at the thought of   
Jones calling anyone sir, let alone hearing him do it.   
  
" No, No." Mr. Forley interrupted " It's quite all right. Boys will be   
boys, after all."  
  
" I'm his teac.." Realizing that proclaiming to be 'Pierce's' teacher   
would not do his credibility any good having just been insulting the   
'boy', Jones topped himself. " I'm sorry all the same, sir." He glances   
that 'Pierce' as the young man made a peculiar snuffling noise.   
  
" No, problem, no problem. Now, to see the site itself. Are you ready?"  
  
  
The site was in perfect condition, an archeologist's dream. Jones   
couldn't control a little yelp of joy, though he kept the rest of his   
joy private, knowing Adamson would enjoy nothing more than ammunition   
with which to taunt him unbearably. And Jones had no where near enough   
information with which to do the same. Pierce on the other hand,   
didn't seem as excited. In fact, he seemed…. sad? Why would he be sad   
at such a gem. He had been a little odd earlier, and then he was   
normal. Or as normal as Pierce ever gets. He thought maliciously.  
  
Methos watched the play of feelings across Jones's face. He could read   
this man so well. He fancied that he could hide his emotions, but they   
were an open book to Methos. But then again, most people's are. He   
thought smugly. He tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear   
Forley say" and she will be working with you. She's a genius really."  
  
" Who is?" Jones asked. Apparently he hadn't been listening either.   
  
" I am." A voice claimed coming up beside Jones.   
  
" Armecha." Methos breathed. But, no.. she wasn't his lost love. Her   
skin was lighter. Her hair was brown instead of raven black. And unless   
his eyes deceived him ( hey five thousand years some thing has to   
go. He joked to himself) he saw a spray of freckles across her nose.   
It was just the place. Too many memories  
  
" I'm Anna Lucas." She introduced herself offering her hand. She   
didn't seem to have heard his whisper. Forley was old, he probably   
couldn't have heard it. But someone did. And that someone gave him a   
Look, before shaking the tiny woman's hand and introducing himself.   
  
" And this is Pierce Adamson."  
  
She smiled with the right side of her mouth. " Nice to meet you.   
Grandmother wants to meet the you both before George and she leave.   
She has tea ready." She smiled at the old man as she said his name,   
genuine affection marking it.   
  
It was then that Methos noticed the girls accent. It wasn't exactly   
English, American or Egyptian, but a combination of the three. Jones   
had noticed it too, and before Methos. He's not getting over the way   
she looks! That sounded bad even in his own mind so he amended it to   
Well, he's not getting over her startling resemblance to someone else.   
  
" You accent. Where is it from?" Jones questioned.   
  
" I spent half my childhood in England, the other half in America. My   
teenage years were spent here, and I went to under grad in America and   
grad in England." She informed them as they walked to an extravagant   
tent.   
  
They walked in to a tent that appeared to have all the amenities of a   
home.   
  
A beautiful older woman stood at their arrival. Immediately upon   
their entrance her eyebrows drew together and she uttered, " Dr.   
Adams? Benjamin Adams?  
  
Methos' first thought? " Oh shit"   
  
His second was much more benign, especially because he hadn't said   
the first aloud and Amec.....Anna was introducing Jones and him to   
the aged woman. " Grandma this is Dr. Jones and this is   
Pierce Adamson."  
  
" Yes, of course. You, young man," she pointed at Methos, " look just   
like a doctor I knew. I was just a child, so of course you couldn't   
be him. But dear god, you look like Doctor Adams. He was a wonderful   
man. Very kind eyes. You have them too."  
  
Methos looked at her dark hair and twinkling eyes and remembered a   
little girl who peered around corners when ever was in her house. Her   
mother couldn't be bothered with a child and her father was away far   
too often, so little Mary looked forward to the visits from the doctor   
who told her stories of Egypt and Greece while the little girl followed   
him around, carrying his bag and generally aiding him as she   
unknowingly learning a little medicine as he practiced it on her   
parent's estate. That was over sixty years ago, though, so he   
couldn't claim remembrance. He had left when a fall from a horse had   
ended 'Dr. Adams' life. Oh, Mary was a wonderful child though.   
  
" Thank you. Maybe he was related in some way." He said instead. She   
smiled " Maybe." She clapped her hands together. "Tea."   
  
They sat down to tea. Jones looked thoroughly confused which gave   
Methos great amusement.  
  
He saw Anna whisper something in his ear and presses down a pang of   
jealousy, reminding himself that this was not Armecha. Armecha was   
dead. He was here where they had enjoyed such joy in life and love.   
And he intended to make the most of it.   
  
Tea was over by eight. Where has the day gone? Jones wondered. But then   
again Jones wondered a great many things. Why Forley and Anna's   
grandmother were going to England for their honeymoon, why Pierce   
knew exactly what Forley was talking about when he mentioned old   
digs, why he had looked like he did remember the new Mrs. Forley, and   
most of all who was he really. Jones was not a stupid man, dense   
occasionally, but stupid was not one of his skills. Pierce looked   
like he was 30 tops, and when he smiled he looked like an over- grown   
12 year old.. But he seemed to know things intimately that occurred   
long before he could even have been thought of. Before his parents   
were born even! I'll find out Jones inquiring mind swore to   
himself. I'll find out.  
  
  
This time it was Methos who woke Jones 'Indiana' he thought   
sardonically to himself. 'What a stupid name. I wouldn't name a dog   
that'.   
  
He thought as he threw a bucket of water on to the peacefully   
slumbering man. As Jones spluttered in the morning light Methos pulled   
the blankets off the drenched fellow.   
  
" Rise and shine, darling" Methos said in a falsetto voice, showing   
no sign at first that he noticed Jones withering stare. Finally he   
said "Damn, Jones, if looks could kill.... wait yours already can   
with no effort on your part  
  
" Hardy harhar." Jones deadpanned.   
  
" Come on, let's go. We have stuff to do. Up and at 'em." Methos was   
eager to get to the dig site.   
  
" I don't wear ..a lot of clothes when I think I'm safe from madmen   
with water buckets, like I stupidly thought last night.   
Obviously, that didn't occur to you when you soaked my blankets. "   
Methos raised an eyebrow at Jones' calm tirade. Seeing it Jones   
smiled. " Well, I guess I shouldn't talk."  
  
Methos smiled. Those who knew him really well would be aware that this   
was a *wait for it* smile. Those who knew him very well were few and   
limited however. And Jones was not among them " Well, you know what   
they say about those you live in glass house, don't you?"  
  
" They shouldn't throw stones? " Jones responded the common phrasing,   
suspecting now that something was coming.   
  
" No, they should wear underwear." Methos said calmly. He took one   
look at Jones' face and walked off. Jones heard him laughing when he   
was out of sight.   
  
  
It was dark when Methos found Armecha's barrette . He clenched it   
tight, the edges digging into his skin, drawing blood that he stemmed   
quickly, wiping it off the barrette to hold the shining silver to the   
light.   
  
  
Flashback It was their wedding night. He had had the barrette   
made weeks in advance. But the sheer joy of putting it into her   
shinning hair had been unimaginable. She had worn it as often as she   
could, about once a month. Her beautiful hair........ Gone now.   
Forever. ************************************************************  
  
Methos closed his eyes against the memory. Maybe this was a bad idea   
after all. No, he couldn't leave now. He had to do what he hadn't been   
able to before, put his wife to rest. The dust had covered the whole   
estate. It was all he could do to pull himself out of the ruble, and   
even then he died nine times, choking to death. Choking is not a good   
way to die. " but is there a good way to die?" He asked aloud.   
  
" I can't think of one. " Jones said wiping his forehead with a   
bandanna.   
  
" It was a rhetorical question. Need a dictionary?" Methos   
questioned caustically. He had NOT meant to say that out loud.   
  
"What is your problem. I got reviews on you from all your other   
teachers, why is it that you acting like an ass around me?"  
  
" You asked for me to act like myself. I am. Wait a moment. You   
checked up on me?!"  
  
" You think that I won't want to know something about some one I'm   
bringing half way around the world?"   
  
" How much checking did you do?" Methos asked suddenly fearful for   
the identity he had laid out for himself. It was the first time he had   
made new life since the invention of the telephone. He suspected that   
that little device would royally screw his procedures for new lives.   
'Well, it's the best thing to check on records with, yet'. He consoled   
himself.   
  
"There wasn't much I could do. You really have to update your   
university file. I couldn't find anyone who knew Peter or Hannah   
Adamson. The house you grew up in must have burned down because there   
isn't one there now. In fact it's like you didn't even exist before you   
started at the university."   
  
' Thank god for unsuspicious minds' Methos thought, not dreaming that   
none of this was true. Jones hadn't checked him out before the trip.   
He had made a few phone calls while Pierce was reading the night before   
and gleaned more information on this odd man.   
  
Indiana studied the expression of the man before him. A glint   
flashed into his eyes. " What's that?" he asked gesturing toward the   
piece of silver in Methos' hand.  
  
" This?" Methos asked cursing himself for not have hiding it   
better. " Oh, it looks like a hair piece. Probably belong to the lady   
of the house. By it's design," he said, holding it to the light and   
bluffing his heart out "It was a wedding present given from a young   
groom to a young bride . Older couple s had a different pattern.   
Blows your old man theory right out of the water, doesn't it?"  
  
" How much of that did you make up, just off the top of your head?"  
  
" None!" Methos lied with absolutely no pangs of conscious. " It's   
well documented in several scientific texts including one by Nepoip."  
  
" Nepoip? There's no such person. Pierce, do you want to try the   
truth this time? Starting with who you really are?"   
  
Methos threw down his shovel. " What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
" You know what I'm talking about." Jones voice quieted. " I saw you   
cut yourself this morning."  
  
' Damn.' Methos looked at his hand. He hadn't been paying attention,   
when he had found a particularly interesting piece of pottery. It would   
be interesting to Jones, at least. It had sat beside his bathing tub.   
Stupid thing had broken though. The cut was completely gone now, of   
course as proven when Jones roughly grabbed his wrist and turned his   
hand to the fading light.   
  
" There's nothing there now. " Jones pointed out the obvious.   
  
" It must have been your imagination." Methos bluffed hoping 'Indiana'   
hadn't any evidence. Jones held up a handkerchief in his other hand. A   
bloody handkerchief. With the initials PA. 'Damn it all, '  
  
"On top of that, you knew that woman. I saw your face. And that hair   
thing what was that?"   
  
" It was my wife's" Methos whispered.   
  
Jones dropped his hand.  
  
" What?'  
  
" It was my wife's" Methos continued in a louder voice. " We lived here   
together before time started going forward.   
  
" Jesus Christ." Jones said in a disgusted voice.   
  
" Nice kid. A trifle the world is black or white, but he was okay and   
could he drink" Methos said.   
  
" Bull shit" Jones said. " I was hoping for something serious and look   
the shit I get." Jones walked away.   
  
Methos' mouth dropped open in shock, of all the reactions he'd   
contemplated total disbelief, especially with the cut and all, never   
crossed his mind. It was nice though. Except that now Jones thought he   
was a liar. ' Damn it' "Jones" Methos started to follow him Jones   
through the dark. He tripped over a shovel which following a law of   
motion, he couldn't remember which one, hit him in the face with the   
opposite end. 'Damn it, this just isn't my night.' He thought rubbing   
the even now fading bruise. It was then he felt the buzz that signaled   
another immortal presence. ' Nope, not my night...'   
  
Methos called into the dark "Who is there?"  
  
After a moment an answer came, in a way. " Show yourself. Come into the   
light." Methos, of course, made a detour to where he had laid his coat   
in the midmorning heat. Shrugging it on, he stepped in to the moonlight.   
A moment later another man did as well. He had black hair, the temples   
silvered. The man was the same height as Methos, his build was slim.   
His eyes though were the bluest sapphire.   
  
" Adams." The man said in a disgusted voice.  
  
" Phillips." Methos acknowledge stiffly. He couldn't hold it long,   
though before he broke out laughing. " Peter, how are you? I've not   
seen you in, what a hundred years?"  
  
" Nearly." Peter acknowledged with a grin. The two men grasped each   
other for a moment, then laughed again.  
  
" What are you doing in Egypt?" Methos asked.  
  
" Well, I heard about this wonderful find in the desert and I had to   
see it. Some old fellow I know told me about how much he loves this   
place." Peter gave Methos a wry grin and continued. "I'm coming to try   
to convince a Dr. Jones to try to convince his museum to broker a deal   
with mine. We finance part of the dig we get part of the findings"  
  
"why didn't you just go to Chicago?"  
  
"we wanted to make sure the dig was good before we offered. Now my are   
you here?"   
  
" I'm participating in the dig. Come on, I'll introduce you to Jones.   
Shit."   
  
" What?"   
  
" We were talking and well, I slipped and told Jones something that I   
probably shouldn't have."  
  
" You didn't tell him what you are did you?"  
  
" It was an accident."  
  
" Ben, you don't have accidents. What happened."  
  
Methos waved his hand from his position sitting on a rock. " This   
place. I used to live here."  
  
" Specifically here?" Peter questioned from his similar position.   
  
Methos blew his breath out in a gust. " Yeah, this place. Damn, it's   
been insane. First I met a woman who looks like the wife I had while I   
lived here." He looked wistfully at Peter. " I really loved her." Peter   
patted Methos' back reassuringly, waiting for the rest. " Then I saw a   
woman who I knew as a little girl and she recognized me. Than I found   
my wife's barrette that I gave her on our wedding night and Jones got   
on my ass about who I am, and I .slipped. Then I see a friend that I   
haven't seen in a century and tell him how bad my week has been."   
  
" This all happened this week?" Peter asked incredulously.   
  
" No." Methos said wryly. " This all happened with in the last two   
days."  
  
" Damn, you need a vacation."  
  
" This was a vacation. I need to go back to work." Methos only half   
jested. He stood " Come now. Let's go see Jones. Hopefully he'll still   
think that I'm lying through my teeth or crazy."  
  
" We can hope."   
  
Neither man noticed a shadow detach itself and head toward the camp.   
  
  
" What name are you going by now?" Methos asked his friend.   
  
" The same. And you?"  
  
" Pierce Adamson" Peter burst out laughing. Methos tried to hush him,   
but to no avail.   
  
" Pierce?" he finally stuttered.   
  
" What's wrong with Pierce?" Methos questioned vaguely offended.   
  
" Nothing." To his credit Peter kept a straight face here, though it   
was the near thing." Just, Slice be so much more appropriate, wouldn't   
it?" Methos made a halfhearted attempt to slug Peter in the arm. "   
Honestly though you should have gone with, I don't know Adam Pierceson   
instead."  
  
" I'll keep it in mind" Methos answered dryly.   
  
" No, I've got it Adam Pierson. Much better. Now, tell me about this   
Jones fellow."  
  
" Intelligent. Humorous in his way. He's my teacher at the moment so   
try to be nice, okay?"  
  
" I'm always nice." Peter said mock haughtily.   
  
"Uh-huh." Methos agreed "Like a barracuda." Seeing Peter about to   
protest Methos said, "We're here."  
  
He opened the main tent hanging and both men entered. " Indiana?"   
Methos called. Peter sputtered. Methos grinned. Always could count on   
Peter to react the same way he did. What else were sons for anyway?   
  
  
Flashback It was a terrible storm. Ten had died. But only nine-year-old   
Peter Phillips had been orphaned. Thought he had tried to save all of   
the victims Dr. Adams still felt guilty, especially over the lost of   
the boy's adoptive parents. The boy had no family so he had taken the   
boy in. Peter had been twelve when he found out about immortals. That   
one head had been the only one he took in all of Peter's time with him.   
Peter had started college at seventeen and gone on to become a doctor   
before 'dying' at the age of forty-two, apparently older then the man   
who had raised him. They had separated ten years after Peter's first   
death. The end of the teaching had ended the sporadic visits that   
peppered Peter's adulthood. Only letters went between father and son   
and those about two years apart. Methos had missed one of the few   
people he trusted entirely. " And a son is a wonderful thing to have."   
he mused.   
*****************************************************************  
  
Methos slung an arm companionably over his son's shoulders as he   
continued calling for Jones. "Indiana?" Peter snickered again at the   
name.  
  
Finally the object of their search returned the call. " In here,   
Pierce." Peter sniggered again. This time Methos shot him a dirty look   
and put a finger to his mouth before entering the portioned off section   
that Indy occupied.   
  
" Indiana I'd like you to meet my…friend, Peter Phillips. He's here on   
business."   
  
" Please to meet you." Jones said shortly.   
  
"And Peter this is Indiana Jones." Methos continued ignoring Jones'   
curtness.  
  
" Indiana. What a unique name." Peter was having a hard time not   
laughing.   
  
Methos figured it was his proximity to someone the same as when Peter   
was a boy that was making Peter act like a teenager.   
  
Methos, not so subtly, inched toward Peter and kicked him in his   
ankle. Then, smiling he offered Peter a drink. Jones looked over at   
Peter and asked drolly " So, you've know Pierce?" he questioned the   
name " for how long? A hundred years?"  
  
" I beg your pardon?" Peter asked innocently, glancing at where Methos   
had paused momentarily at pouring the brandy.   
  
" That fine, old, gentleman over there." Jones gestured vaguely toward   
Methos. "You've known him for a hundred years? Is he always so, how   
does one say it? Impetuous? Indiscreet? Well?"   
  
Judging lying to be the best course of action in this case Methos   
walked over and slipped into Pierce Adamson mode " Are you all right,   
Dr. Jones?" He gently took the glass of whiskey and the bottle that   
Jones had been pouring out of from Jones hand and the table beside   
him, respectively. " I think you may have had enough of this." He said   
quietly.   
  
Jones smashed his hand down on the chair arm. " Don't patronize me." He   
glanced at the hand he had slammed as if surprised. He continued softly   
" I heard you, you know. When you were outside. I didn't want to   
believe you , but why would you lie when I wasn't there." He looked   
Methos in the eye. "You look like a little boy, but you're older than   
Christianity. Christ, you could have known Christ!" Jones smirked. "   
Damn I thought you were a cocky kid. A smart cocky kid, but just a   
kid. You knew. And you came here."  
  
Peter might have well as not bee in the room, and seeing a need for his   
father and the doctor to be alone, he left.   
  
Methos was faintly aware of Peter's presence reseeding, but he was far   
more caught up in the grief and stunned awe he saw in Jones eyes. The   
awe he could understand, but the grief?  
  
" Why? Why are you so sad?" he asked, unable to help himself.   
  
" For you." Jones voiced quietly. For all you've had to be, to see. And   
to lose." Methos was stunned. People had feared him, admired him, and   
run from him. But never had someone shown compassion for him. He was   
surprised to see it come from a man who seemed to have all the   
characteristics of an explorer , born 300 years too late. Searching for   
the next adventure, devil damn the consequences.   
  
  
Indy continued looking at the tall man. Not boy, any longer. Man. He   
looked at the bottle of whiskey that he suspected figured directly in   
the equation of his belief in this whole matter. Oh, well. He'd seen   
the ark of the convent, the Holy Grail; what was a race of immortals   
compared to that? Even the oldest man in that said race of immortals.   
Immortals! What would it be like to live that long. Why would you? Who   
wants to live forever? All the loss. Jones thought of the losses in his   
own relatively brief life and shuddered at the thought of multiplying   
it by so many years. For his part Methos stared at the young mortal.   
He felt compassion for him! Mortals so rarely even understood. 'Oh   
hell.' he thought irately ' it hasn't been all beer and skittles, sure,   
but there has been great moments.' He thought of the dig site right   
outside thought longingly of that wife.   
  
He murmured " Good night Dr. Jones."  
  
Jones toasted him with the glass he had managed to get back. " good   
night." As Methos walked out Jones looked back down at the glass. Yep,   
this was a three ice tea evening. Long Island ice tea.   
  
  
Morning Damn. Damn Damn Damn.   
  
" Something wrong Dr. Jones?"  
  
" My head. My frigging head. Or don't you get hangovers?"  
  
" Actually…" Methos began.  
  
Indy glared at him. It was all Methos could do not to laugh.   
  
" If you let that smile get away from you…"  
  
Methos schooled his face to the proper contrition. He hoped. Jones gave   
him a final look and said " Come on. Let's work on the site. I think   
we'll uncover the lower portions of the house. Where's your friend by   
the way?"  
  
"He left this morning for Chicago. His museum wants to finance part of   
the dig. And yeah, we were about five feet from the stairs yesterday.   
The stairs were in pretty good shape, and if I remember correctly, and   
I do, the stairs were left uncovered by an obelisk that I had hanging   
on the wall."  
  
" You had an obelisk on the wall?"   
  
" It was pretty!" Methos defended himself. " I liked it!"  
  
Indy walked away muttering about 'pretty'. Methos grinned and followed   
the nauseous archeologist with a smile. This was shaping up to be, if   
not a great day, then at least a very funny day.   
  
  
By noon, Indy already had a sunburn and three cuts. And they were not   
even to the stairs yet.   
  
" I thought you said you hung the obelisk."  
  
" I was being metaphoric. What does the word obelisk bring to your   
mind? Not a little circle, one would hope."  
  
" No, that thing is huge. What the hell was the owner thinking, hanging   
that in that huge thing upstairs?!" SHE had come up upon them unaware.   
Methos closed his eyes and his mouth to keep from calling out the name   
of she who this girl was not. Gods, but it was strange. In the   
sunlight the resemblance was uncanny. And painful.   
  
Seeing that Jones had jumped she apologized. " Sorry, sorry. Didn't   
mean to scare you."  
  
Manfully disregarding THAT remark Indy said " I wasn't scared. I   
was…startled."   
Methos piped up " I was scared."  
  
She grinned. " Yeah, this face this early in the morning…bound to scare   
anyone. I'm sorry I wasn't here yesterday. Had to get Grandmother and   
my new grandfather to the plane, make sure they didn't forget anything.   
Besides that atrocious obelisk what else was found?"  
  
That atrocious obelisk. His wife had used those exact words. Well,   
kinda. Not in English of course, but the intent was the same. ' Stop   
looking for resemblance's, old man' he told himself. 'Otherwise you're   
just going to make yourself sick.' He caught the thought '   
Metaphorically, of course. 'he grinned to himself.   
  
It was dark when Indy finally retired to a long and, to Methos, boring   
conversation with Anne about Carter's find of King Tutekommen's tomb.   
It had been years, but Jones was still amazed that the tomb had   
survived intact. Anne said it was simply a sign that the Egyptians   
didn't have records of sites. Methos yawn. It was simply because the   
man had wanted to be 'above' a pharaoh. Pertim 'was' a pompous   
asshole. It was surprising that no one killed him. 'Then again,' he   
mused, ' that 'accident' was a little surprising.' What ever else   
Pertim was, and he was an awful lot, he had been an excellent   
horseman. A lousy human being but………  
  
With a mental snap Methos tried to bring himself back to the   
conversation at hand. He was finally getting used to Anne's   
resemblance to his wife. Except in the dark. Or the twilight. 'Oh,   
hell, in the middle of the bloody day!'   
  
'I'll never forget her.' Was his last thought before he felt a blow to   
the back head, then darkness. And a woman's scream……..so like his   
wife's….all those years ago……  
  
  
Flashback  
  
It was so dark…..suffocating, but before he fell into unconsciousness,   
he heard his wife scream….and his small daughter begin to cry, about to   
be brought to what she was far to soon….and then the darkness claimed   
him. *****************************************************************   
He woke before Anne or Jones. Of course. He felt his head for a lump,   
more out of the ingrained humanity or than for any real need. He was   
sure that it was healed by now. Crawling over, 'they didn't tie us   
up….. sloppy, sloppy', to Jones he first felt the archeologists head   
for any apparent signs of a concussion from the blow he must have   
received. Finding only the lump he expected , but no blood he crawled   
over to Anne. Forcing himself not to leisure in the touch….and only to   
check her head. Surprisingly she came to while he checked.   
  
" So you know where we are?" she whispered groggily, but obviously   
understanding the situation at hand.  
  
" In a some sort of obeleot, I imagine. The French weren't the only   
ones to think of those." He whispered back putting his head close to   
hers.   
  
" They came out of no where."   
  
' Now it comes' Methos thought. 'she's going to start crying.'  
  
But she didn't. " I don't suppose you know why they took us, do you?"  
  
Quickly, without even considering it he reassured her. " I don't know."   
But maybe he did.   
  
  
Flashback  
  
" Guard my home unto your children's children's children and on until I   
relieve you. I will be back at times. Just….don't let anyone disturb my   
wife's final sleep. And guard her." He held his hand in front of his   
eyes, hiding his tears. He had crawled out of the sand, carrying the   
precious burden they were now to guard, going back to bury some of the   
dead with the aid of the guards who were of desert stock, hiding in   
caves with their families, the underground caverns big enough for a   
city.   
  
The chief of the guards nodded. " It shall be as you saw, my lord."   
The rest simply nodded, they would keep their chief's oath until the   
last generation. As should be. They were paid well enough. And the   
honor…..  
  
************************************************************* But   
he never could return to where Armecha was buried, keeping his visits   
every five centuries merely to the caves.   
  
  
A light interrupted his thoughts and waking Jones. A man stood in the   
door way he had previously missed. 'Slipping, old man, slipping'.   
" Come with me now." Yep, definitely the desert folks. 'Stupid,   
Stupid, Stupid. Should have gone and seen them'  
  
As the were prodded down a long corridor Jones said to Methos, softly   
so that neither Anne nor their guard would hear, " What's with this?   
Why did this guy knock us out?"   
  
" Um…I kind of did it."   
  
" What!?" you had to admire a man who could whisper a yell.  
  
" Well, I bloody well didn't expect them to attack anyone at the house!   
I said guard it, but I thought their hands would be full with the rest,   
and I meant to go and see them, to tell them I was here, but I've had   
too many damn shocks!" His voice went quieter. "I didn't expect all my   
memories to come back like this. They hadn't been this bad the other   
times I was here, but that's why I don't come back that often."  
  
" Well, you're damn well back now!"  
  
" And they'll believe it's me because…….?"  
  
" Silence! No talking!"  
  
'Trifle redundant isn't he?' Methos thought to himself.   
  
  
They were led into a room that Methos recalled was used for meetings   
At the sight of them all the eyes of the tribunal that led the tribe   
were focused first on the prisoners, then on the walls of the cave.   
Following the gaze Methos was surprised to see a likeness of himself   
and Armecha. 'My nose is not that big But someone has a good   
imagination' The painting hadn't been there last time he was. The   
tribal elders bowed to the prisoners, their guards following suit.   
  
"Pierce why are we on the wall." Anne asked, noting her resemblance to   
the woman in the painting.   
  
Methos couldn't answer because at that moment the spokesman began to,   
well, speak.   
  
" You have returned, my lord? To see the Lady Miriam?" Methos let   
the last traces off Pierce Adamson disappear. He vaguely heard Anne   
gasp at the sight of his eyes, so different from the laughing sarcasm   
of Pierce. " Is she well?"  
  
"As lively as she was when I was a child, my Lord."  
  
" Bring my daughter forth to me." The spokesman nodded at a woman   
standing near an archway in the cave. She nodded back and exited. A few   
moments later, ignoring the looks that Jones kept shooting him and the   
puzzled glances, not understanding the language. Anne was giving *both*   
of them looks, Methos felt a slight buzz. A moment later a small bundle   
of energy shot toward Methos jumping into his arms. Miriam.   
  
  
Methos clutched the small child crying "Papa, Papa!. You naughty! Where   
have you been?" in Egyptian.   
  
He answered in kind, as he had when he had spoken to the tribal   
council. "I'm here now little one! How are you?"  
  
" 2036." She said sticking her little fingers in her mouth.   
  
" Not how old are you scamp, but how do you feel?"  
  
" Fine, papa. How are you?"  
  
He held the little girl closer. " I'm better now, little one."  
  
It was only then that Miriam saw Anne and cried out " Mama!" And   
struggled to go to her.   
  
Anne held her arms out and Methos, though jealous of his little girl   
handed the apparent four year old over. " I'm not your Mama little one,   
I'm a friend of your Papa's. I'll be your friend too." Methos felt like   
slapping himself. Gods, he'd forgotten that Anne likely spoke Egyptian   
as an anthropologist. 'Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.'  
  
They were all led to an impressive suite, the cave having been carved   
into such; this was Methos rooms when he came.   
  
Anne was sitting down rocking the child to sleep in a comfortable   
chair, brushing soft black locks off an innocent face. 'My child.'   
Methos thought possessively, almost allowing himself think that this   
was Armecha rocking Miriam to sleep, all the years since having never   
happened   
  
  
" Will you take your child with you, my lord?" the spokesman was   
speaking again, having led them to the room, Jones suspiciously quiet.   
  
  
'My two thousand year old child.' Reality returned with a thump.  
  
  
" My Lord?" The spokesman again. " The child?"  
  
"Someday, Rashma, someday."  
  
" Lady Miriam is to stay with us?"  
  
Methos turned away from the picture of the two sleeping, so like an   
image over 2 millennium old.  
  
" I can't protect her in the outside world. And I can't kill her."  
  
" We will keep her safe as always, my lord."  
  
The spokesman left. Jones replaced him. "You leaving her here?" he   
questioned with anger tingeing his voice.   
  
Already exhausted emotionally Methos whirled on him, hissing. " You   
over step yourself. You don't understand this." Full autocratic mode.   
Jones reared back as if struck.   
  
He grabbed Methos shirt collar. " Explain. I think I've been fairly   
understanding up until now. You're immortal, your four year old   
daughter is immortal, you lived at this dig, Anne looks just like your   
dead wife, these people have been living in caves the better part of   
two millennia, raising your daughter, that guy, Peter was an immortal   
and your son too. And there is stuff I still don't understand? Talk."   
Indiana released Methos shirt.   
  
Methos brushed his clothes free of wrinkles. He looked at Jones. "   
This is hard for me. I've not had this much crap on me for five   
hundred years. It's a pain." He placed his hand over his eyes. "   
Explanations. I suppose I owe you that after all you've been though."  
  
Jones snorted. Methos peeked at him from beneath his hand. He might as   
well know. " You know about immortals. Well immortal is a bit of a   
misnomer. We CAN die. But only if our heads take a permanent vacation   
from our bodies."  
  
" Easy enough to avoid." Jones said with a raised eyebrow waiting for a   
catch. Methos delivered it.  
  
" You'd think. But there's a catch. Immortals play something called the   
Game. Game with a capital G. It's one of., if not the most, important   
things in our lives. The Game involves two immortals who engage in a   
duel with dum da dum swords the winner, ironically enough, cuts off   
the losers head. And absorbs something called the quickening. It's like   
the life force of the immortal. Some of us fight just to live others   
live just to fight. I haven't fought in over a hundred years. Holy   
ground is the only place we're safe. None of us will battle there. Any   
holy ground at all for any religion. Some of us head-hunt. That is,   
kill any immortal for the quickening. I can't let that happen to   
Miriam. " Methos gestured widely around the cave" This whole complex   
is holy ground. She's lived here her whole life. I had a friend bless   
it. And then I forgot about it because it just hurt too much. I do   
come. About every 500 years. Image the worst thing that's ever happened   
to you then multiply it by infinity. That's how much more pain I've   
felt. I have to forget some of it. If I took Miriam from here she'd   
have to be with me every moment or a head hunter would get her. If I   
died a head hunter would get her. And some head hunters play with   
their victims. She's safer here. I have to protect her. I failed to   
protect Armecha."  
  
Jones looked like he was in shock but he still managed to put his hand   
on Methos shoulder. " You couldn't help it. It was the sand storm. "  
  
" That time." Methos smiled wanly and walked away. "We leave at   
first light."  
  
  
It was still dark when Methos, Jones, Anne, and Miriam left the caves,   
though dawn was glinting at the horizon, Methos clinging to Miriam and   
she to him. At 20 yards out Methos clutched the eternal girl once more   
and knelt with her on the ground. He stuck a finger under the small   
chin, tears glistening in both father's and daughter's eyes. " Little   
one, you know I can't protect you except by leaving you here. But I   
will come to see you. And remember I love you." Miriam flung herself   
at her father sobbing, but understanding. Jones ran a hand over his   
eyes. Methos gently pushed Miriam toward the caves they had just left,   
where an old nomad woman waited for Miriam to return. Miriam nodded her   
head and drew herself up like the noble she was and turned to the cave   
and walked with all the dignity her four year old body would allow.   
  
Anne closed her eyes and spoke " Will you come back?"   
  
" Of course." Methos whispered "Of course. And may you never have to   
make such a choice."   
  
@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@  
Meccastu@yahoo.com  



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